James Potter: Preparing for Hogwarts
by Three Sickles Short
Summary: [Complete] James Potter's last day before he starts his first year and his ride on the Hogwarts Express. He meets all the usual suspects--and a few less usual ones--and we get glimpse at his family, background, and ties in the wizarding world.
1. Shopping

Author's Note: James Potter gets ready for Hogwarts. In this first chapter, he goes shopping for school supplies and runs into several people who will play important parts in his school days and beyond. Stay tuned for Chapter Two, "Tea With Grandfather;" this chapter will explain why he's "Jamie" in this chapter and "James" later on. I'm not sure how many chapters we'll have in all; I'm guessing three or four, and I'll stop this story with James's class arriving at Hogwarts. At any rate, enjoy, and let me know what you think; this is my first try at fan fiction, and I'd like to know how you folks think it's going.

Oh, I almost forgot: None of this belongs to me. It all belongs to J. K. Rowling.

I've uploaded this three times (so far) correcting various errors; sorry if that causes any trouble.

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Shopping

A _poof _sound came from the fireplace in the corner of The Leaky Cauldron, and a boy arrived in it, landing in a heap. He stood up, dusted himself off, paused, looked around, and crossed the room to stand in front of the bar. The older bartender regarded him expectantly. "Are you Jarvis?" the boy asked. The bartender nodded. "I'm Jamie Potter. My father said to show you this letter and that you'd let me into Diagon Alley."

The bartender glanced at the letter with the familiar crest and the opening that he knew so well: "Dear Mr. Potter, We are pleased to inform you. . . ." He smiled at the boy. "You're Will Potter's son, yes? He owled to tell me you'd be here. He's still out of the country, then?"

"Yes, sir. He's working on. . . ." The boy paused for a moment, checked himself, and finished his sentence with, ". . . something for Grandfather."

"I see. Have you seen J.P. lately?"

"No, sir, but I'm to have tea with him today once my shopping is finished."

"That's nice. And how's your mum? Is she coming?" He eyed the fireplace, waiting for another person to arrive.

"She's fine, thanks. She's not coming today. She would have come, but Nicky—my little brother—has been sick, and she wanted to give him another day to get better before she brought him out. They'll be up tomorrow to see me off, though."

"You're all by yourself, then?" 

"Yes, sir. I know my way, though; I've been here lots of times."

"Alright, then. You'll be careful, right?" 

"Yes, sir. And I'll come back through here after my tea with Grandfather."

"Tom!" Jarvis called to the younger man, who was leaning across the counter talking animatedly to a customer. When he snapped to attention, the older man instructed, "Take this lad outside and let him into Diagon Alley. This is Jamie Potter. Jamie, this is my son, Tom."

"Hi, Tom. Nice to meet you." He offered his hand.

"Good to meet you, Jamie. Come along, then." Jamie followed Tom outside and watched as the young man drew his wand and used it to touch a brick in the wall that stood behind the pub. The brick wriggled, and a doorway appeared. "In you go."

"Thanks. See you later," Jamie said, stepping through the entrance. He looked down the Alley, which was teeming with people. On top of the usual swarm, there were lots of families with children there today; Hogwarts opened tomorrow, and the last-minute shoppers were out in force. Jamie joined the throng, heading for Gringotts.

The quiet inside the bank contrasted with the noise and crowd outside. Jamie went to the desk, showed his key to one goblin, and followed another (who had been summoned by the first) to the passageway that led to his family's vault. Another cart was just coming out of the passageway. It contained the goblin driver, a black-haired boy, and a rather green-looking woman who Jamie guessed was the boy's mother. The cart screeched to stop, and the woman climbed out gratefully. The boy stayed in the cart. "Mum? What about stuff from Grandma's vault?" 

"Oh, Sirius!" His mother sounded exasperated. "Why didn't you mention that when we were already down there?" 

"Because I wanted to ride the cart again," the boy replied, grinning unapologetically. His mother sighed, and he added, "You don't have to go; I can get it myself."

His mother looked wary, but she apparently couldn't face another cart ride. "Fine. Just don't drop it; you have no idea what kind of curses she's got on. Paranoid, that's what she is. If I start getting like that, hex me, will you?" 

"Happily," her son joked. "Don't worry; I'll be careful with it." She shrugged helplessly at the goblin, who started the cart again, carrying away a grinning Sirius. 

She looked at Jamie, noticing him for the first time. "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes, ma'am. First year."

"So is Sirius. Do you like those awful carts?"

Jamie laughed. "Yes, ma'am," he replied. "But I wish they went faster."

"You and my son should get along fine." A second cart, this one empty, arrived, and Jamie and his goblin climbed in. As the cart sped off, Jamie heard the woman mutter, "Have fun," in a rather-you-than-me voice. 

One breathless round-trip cart ride later, Jamie left the bank with a pocketful of Galleons and Sickles and headed for Ollivander's wand shop. There were other places to buy a wand, and they were less expensive, but not so good by half. Jamie's father had emphasised in his letter to buy his wand from no one but Ollivander. "As if I didn't know that already," Jamie had muttered when he read the letter. He reached the shop and walked in; a tinkling bell deep in the shop announced his arrival. Several families with children were already in the shop, but no one was talking; it reminded Jamie of the very strict library in his village. An old man with eerie, silvery eyes appeared from the back room and began to talk to the first family, composed of a mother, a father, and two girls. The mother was slim and blonde and not very tall; her husband was much taller and had dark red hair. The first girl, the younger one, had her father's hair and her mother's bright green eyes; the older, taller girl had her mother's hair but lacked her mother's beauty; she looked rather like a horse. This second girl was the only member of the family who didn't look excited; she looked resentful and like she'd rather be anywhere but here. The old man spoke to the parents first.

"I don't recognise you two, which means that you've never been here before; I never forget a face. . . . or a wand. And I don't recognize this young lady, either," he added, indicating the sullen older girl. He turned to the red-haired girl. "Does this mean that you, young lady, are the first magic one in the family?" 

"Yes, sir." She replied. "My name is Lily. . . Lily Evans."

"Well, Miss Evans, let's get you fitted up with a wand. Which is your wand arm?"

"I'm left-handed for writing, but I'm right-handed for sport."

"We'll try both, then. Hold out your left arm first. That's it." He began to measure her arm, first from shoulder to finger, then from wrist to elbow, then each finger individually. He performed the same measurements on the other arm, then left the tape measure to continue on its own while he began pulling long, thin boxes from the wall. The tape measured around her head, from her knee to her ankle, and from just about every other point that Jamie could think of. It was measuring the space between her eyebrows when Mr. Ollivander turned back around, his arms full of boxes. "That will do," he said, and the tape measure fell to the floor in a heap. "Try this one, Miss Evans. Beechwood and phoenix feather. Eight inches. Rather stiff." He handed her the wand, and she held it in her left hand, looking uncertain. "Just give it a wave," he said." She did. Nothing happened. "Try it in your other hand," he suggested. She did, and, again, nothing happened. "Not that one. Try this one. Ebony and dragon heartstring. Nine and a half inches, springy." She tried it in each hand with no results in either. "How about this one? Ten and a quarter inches, swishy, made of willow with a core of unicorn hair." She tried it in her left hand with no results. When she took it in her right hand, though, her expression changed, as though this felt promising. She raised it above her head, brought it swishing down, and shot a shower of red and gold sparks across the room, eliciting a chorus of "ooohs" from everyone in the room—everyone, that is, except her sister, who looked, if possible, even more sulky. "Oh, yes indeed!" Mr. Ollivander exclaimed. "That one has chosen you, Miss Evans. Nice wand for charm work, that one. It should serve you well." He put the wand back into the box, wrapped the box in brown paper, and handed it across the counter to the girl. "That will be five Galleons," he said.

"Those are the gold ones, right?" Lily asked. He nodded. "I'm still getting used to this money; it's very different from Muggle money." She handed him five gold coins, took her receipt, and, family in tow, left the shop. 

Mr. Ollivander dealt with the next two families fairly quickly. He remembered the mother from the first family ("Rosewood and unicorn hair for you, yes? Eight inches, whippy."), but not the father, who said that he had gone to school in France and had purchased his wand there. The son's wand turned out to be unicorn hair like his mother's, but it was made of ebony. Mr. Ollivander said that it would be good for Defense. The second family was just a mother and a son. Mr. Ollivander asked about the father, whom he remembered, described both parents' wands, and then sold their son a wand made of Yew and dragon heartstring. Then he turned to Jamie.

"Mr. Potter. I've been expecting you. You are the image of your father. Seems like yesterday that he was here, buying his first wand. Maple and dragon heartstring. Ten and a half inches—rather long—and bendy. A good one for transfiguration. And your grandfather favors a shorter wand—mahogany and phoenix feather, eight inches, very powerful. Just has he has become very powerful. And your mother. . . but perhaps we should worry about you now. Which is your wand arm?"

"The right one, I think," Jamie replied. Mr. Ollivander let his tape do the measuring, then brought over a stack of boxes. He began handing Jamie wands, describing each as he went. 

Nothing worked. Four wands, seven wands, fifteen wands. The people behind Jamie were beginning to shift impatiently. Finally, the sixteenth wand ("Mahogany and dragon heartstring. Eleven inches. Pliable. Excellent for transfiguration.") sent a bolt of warmth up Jamie's arm. He swung it down, producing a shower of red and gold sparks even brighter than Lily's had been. "That's a very powerful wand, Mr. Potter. Very powerful. Take care how you use that power."

"I will, sir."

"That one is six Galleons, four Sickles. A little more expensive than some, but it was a _very_ cranky dragon." Jamie handed over the money and left the shop. Once outside, he removed the brown paper, opened the box, took out his wand, and placed it carefully in the long, thin breast pocket of his robe, the pocket made especially for wands. He'd never had anything to carry there before, and now he did. It made him feel very grown up.

He headed next to Madame Malkin's, where he followed a small, greasy-haired boy inside. Jamie had just gotten through the door when he noticed the black-haired boy from Gringotts heading for the exit. He was alone now, and he seemed to be in a hurry; Jamie guessed that he was meeting his mother somewhere and that he was probably late. In his rush, he dropped his package of robes; the greasy-haired boy, who hadn't been watching where he was going, tripped on the package and fell headlong onto the floor.

"Golly, mate, I'm really sorry!" Sirius exclaimed. He offered his hand to help the other boy from the floor. Greasy Hair ignored him and got to his feet on his own. Jamie gaped at Greasy Hair, shocked; in the process of getting up, he had pulled his wand and now had it trained on Sirius. "What do you think you're doing?" Sirius said, irritation and anxiety mixing in his voice. "I _said_ I was. . . ."

"Silence!" Greasy Hair commanded. "I will have to teach you to take a bit more care. Now, what curse shall I use? Jellylegs seems particularly appropriate. . . ."

"_Expelliarmus_!" Jamie didn't realise he had drawn his wand, didn't realise he had spoken. But he was now holding Greasy Hair's wand as well as his own. He had seen that spell dozens of times at the Dueling Competitions that his father had taken him to see, but, if he had been asked, he'd have said quite sincerely that he had no idea how to do it; he knew the words, but he also knew that it took more than words to make a spell work. Ollivander had been right; this _was_ a powerful wand. Thinking quickly, he pocketed the other wand and trained his own on Greasy Hair. "Don't move," he said, hoping fervently that he would be obeyed; he didn't know any other spells to back up his threatening pose, and he wasn't sure just how much his wand could figure out on its own. Turning toward Sirius, but never taking his eyes from the other boy, he asked, "Okay there, Sirius?" 

"Fine."

"Then you'd better get your package and go." 

"Sure thing." Sirius picked up his package and headed for the door again. Pausing in the doorway, he looked back at Jamie and said, "Thanks, mate."

"You're welcome." Jamie smiled at him, and the boy smiled back, an infectious, irrepressible grin. Then he disappeared out the door. Jamie turned his attention back to Greasy Hair, who was frozen in place. He lowered his wand and gestured to the back of the shop. "Go finish your shopping," he said to Greasy Hair. "I'll wait here 'til you're done, and then I'll give you your wand back." 

"You have no right. . . " Greasy Hair began coldly.

"And you had no right to try to curse that fellow; I saw the whole thing, and he didn't trip you on purpose. It was an accident. Now go one and get your robes." 

Greasy Hair glared at Jamie, but he did as he was told. Several minutes later, he returned to the front of the shop, a package of robes under his arm. "My wand," he said, holding out his hand. Jamie handed it over wordlessly. Greasy Hair turned to go, then turned back. "You haven't seen the last of me," he hissed.

" 'Course I haven't," Jamie said with a laugh. "We're both off to Hogwarts, and I imagine we'll see each other plenty there. Now get out of here, and quit acting like the villain in a second-rate Dark Arts novel." Without another word, Greasy Hair stormed out.

"You'd better watch that one," said a voice behind Jamie. He turned to see a squat, middle-aged witch dressed in mauve robes. 

"How come?"

"That's Tobias Snape's boy. The father's mixed up in all kinds of Dark Arts, and it looks like the son isn't shaping up to be much better. And with you being J.P.'s grandson. . . . Just keep an eye on him, okay? Now, let's get you fitted for some robes."

As she fitted his robes, Jamie reflected that, wherever he went, people seemed to be warning him to be careful—first Jarvis at the Leaky Cauldron, then Mr. Ollivander, and now Madame Malkin. He wondered if it had anything to do with what his dad was working on, with whatever he and Mum had been talking about in low, worried voices. He'd ask Grandfather this afternoon, he decided. Grandfather didn't treat him like a child the way everyone else did.

Madame Malkin finished the fitting and prepared the robes; Jamie paid her and went on. He made a quick stop an Eeylops Owl Emporium to buy some treats for his new owl, Sophia. Dad had gotten her for Jamie's birthday a few months ago; she was a Sooty Owl, black with a dark grey face and a few white spots on her head and wings, and Jamie thought she was beautiful. Sooty Owls came from Australia, and Jamie was a little worried about how Sophia would deal with a Scotland winter; Dad said she would be fine, that she was "a tough old bird," but Jamie wasn't convinced. He was stocking up on treats to keep her happy, and, on impulse, he bought a Self-Warming Nest Pad just in case. Before he could be tempted to buy anything else, he hurried out of Eeylops to the apothecary. He asked for some basic potions ingredients, received them, and headed for Flourish and Blotts; he had saved this stop for last because the supplies that he would buy there—his books and hardware—were heavy, and he hadn't wanted to carry them around all day.

Jamie selected his books first; there were eight in all for his various classes. Then, he moved on to the hardware section. There were plenty of cauldrons at home, but they were mostly gold, silver, or copper, and Jamie needed a pewter one for school; he found it quickly. Grandfather had promised Jamie the crystal phials and brass scales that he had used as at Hogwarts; Grandfather had been an excellent Potions student in his day, and Jamie hoped that using his equipment might bring him some luck. All needed now was a telescope. He settled on a collapsible model made of brass. He lugged his purchases to the counter, paid, and left the shop, heading back to Gringotts. 

Inside, he asked Griphook, a floor goblin, if he could leave his purchases in the family vault. "Just for a few hours; I'll be back before the bank closes."

"Certainly, Mr. Potter. I'll just take them there. Unless you'd like to come along?"

Jamie wavered. He was a little ahead of schedule, and, as he had told Sirius's mother, he did like riding the carts. But he should probably get on to tea.

"No, I'd better go; I have an appointment. But I'll go along to get them when I come back."

"Certainly, Mr. Potter." Griphook snapped his long fingers, and Jamie's packages jumped into the air and followed the goblin away. Jamie, glad to have his hands free again, set off and reached the Post and Portkey Office.

"I'm here for the 3:30 Portkey to the Ministry, please," he said to the woman behind the counter.

"Are you on the list?" she asked tonelessly.

"Should be. Jamie Potter."

She glanced at the list. Apparently, his name was there, for she handed him a rather raggedy-looking quill. "This is it. Leaves in two minutes. Thank you for your business. Have a nice day," she said in the same flat tone. Jamie wondered if she was under a spell or if it was just boredom that made her sound so blank. He didn't have long to wonder, though. In a few moments, he felt a jerk somewhere behind his navel, and he was suddenly speeding along as through a vortex of howling wind and swirling color. As suddenly as his trip had begun, it was over, and he landed in a heap on the marble floor of the Entrance Hall for the Ministry of Magic.


	2. Tea With Grandfather

Author's Note: Welcome to Chapter Two. Savvy readers of the title will probably guess that, in this chapter, James has tea with his grandfather. Grandfather Potter is, as you'll see, a pretty neat guy, and very powerful. 

Sorry this took a bit longer than I had hoped; it's been written for a while, but I've been having computer trouble and couldn't upload.

Thanks to the folks who reviewed Chapter One; love that feedback! If you haven't reviewed yet, please do; let me know what you think is working and what isn't. 

Also, I'd appreciate it if you'd take a look at my Bio section; in it, I describe a piece of fan fiction that I'm trying to find. Undying gratitude to anyone who can help. 

Finally, stick around for Chapter Three, "Evening at Potter Place," coming soon (I hope) to a computer near you.

Once again: This all belongs to J. K. Rowling. She gets the big bucks, not me. 

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Tea With Grandfather

The guard watched as Jamie stood up, straightened his glasses, and attempted to smooth his unruly black hair. "May I help you, lad?" he asked.

"Hi. I'm Jamie Potter. I'm supposed to meet my grandfather John for tea."

"Ah, yes. He's expecting you." The guard touched a spot on the desk in front of him with his wand. A bubble appeared, hovering in the air above his desk. The image of another uniformed guard, this one a woman, stood inside the bubble. "Officer Squiggins, would you please come and escort young Mr. Potter to his grandfather's office?"

"Certainly, Officer Humdinger," the woman in the bubble replied. Officer Humdinger tapped the bubble with his wand, and it popped; the image of Officer Squiggins disappeared. A few moments later, the flesh-and-blood Squiggins arrived through a door behind Humdinger's desk. "Come with me, Mr. Potter," she said, smiling at Jamie. He did. They walked through the winding, multi-branched passages of the Ministry building; it reminded Jamie a lot of Gringotts, but with no cart. And this was more. . . institutional, that was the word—harsher lights, less grandeur. No marble and plush here; instead, hard-wearing carpet and dirt-camouflaging paint. It definitely wasn't as pretty as Gringotts, but it was, in its way, impressive. Jamie had a feeling that these halls, like the halls of Gringotts, brooked no nonsense. This was a place for purposeful footsteps, clipped voices, efficiency. Not a place for fun, but a place for serious work. 

After several minutes, several confusing turns, and lots of staircases, so that it seemed they had retraced parts of their path even though they really hadn't, Jamie and Officer Squiggins arrived at Grandfather's door. She knocked, and a voice from inside called, "Come in!"

They entered the room, and Squiggins reported, "Got him here safely, sir."

"Thank you, Squiggins. You may go." Officer Squiggins left, shutting the door behind her, leaving Jamie alone with his grandfather. "Hello, Jamie," Grandfather said warmly. Grandfather was a big man—not quite as tall as Dad, but broader through the shoulders and a little thicker through the chest. His hair, as unruly as his grandson's, was silver, and he, too, wore glasses behind which sparkled warm brown eyes. His son had those eyes, too, but Jamie's eyes were like Mum's and Nicky's—bright blue and crinkly at the corners when he smiled. Grandfather rose from his large leather chair and walked around his massive mahogany desk to hug his grandson. "How've you been?"

"Good. You?"

"Not bad. Have a seat. Are you hungry?"

"A little," Jamie answered, taking a seat on the green velvet couch just across from Grandfather's desk. "I had lunch before I Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron, but that was a while ago."

"I'll ring for tea, then." Just as Humdinger had done, Grandfather touched a spot on his desk with his wand. A bubble appeared, this one containing the image of a house elf. "Flippy, could you please bring tea for two to my office? Earl Grey for both of us, I think. And a few extra éclairs and macaroons, if you don't mind," he requested.

"Yes, sir. Flippy will have it there as soon as he can. Would sir like crumpets?" As Grandfather and the house elf worked out the menu for tea, Jamie looked around the office; he had never been here before. This was a much cozier place than the rest of the building. Instead of hard-wearing industrial carpet, there were hardwood floors and plushy Oriental rugs in dark green, navy, and burgundy. The upholstery on the mahogany furniture picked up the colors in the rugs, and framed portraits of past inhabitants of this office dozed on the walls. Grandfather's Hogwarts diploma, Jamie noticed, hung on the wall just over the coat rack, where Grandfather's pinstriped cloak and lime green bowler hung neatly. It was a nice place, Jamie decided. 

"Thank you, Flippy," Grandfather said, ending his conversation with the house elf. He popped the bubble with his wand, then turned his attention back to Jamie. "I have quite a weakness for the Ministry kitchen's macaroons, and your father says that you are an éclair man, yes?"

"Yes, sir," said Jamie with a grin.

"Very good. Now, tell me about your day in Diagon Alley. Did you find all of your things?"

"Yes, I found them all, no problem. I put them in the Gringotts vault like Mum said to."

"Good. Anything interesting happen? Did you meet any of your classmates?"

"Kind of. I think I made a friend. And I know I made an enemy."

"Tell me about it." Jamie recounted the story of the boy from Gringotts—the one named Sirius—and the boy with the greasy hair. "So your Disarming Spell worked?" Grandfather asked.

"Yes." Jamie knew that he wasn't supposed to be doing spells, so he rushed to explain. "I didn't really mean to do it. I didn't even know I knew how to. It just. . . happened." He looked at Grandfather anxiously, expecting to see disapproval in his face. He was surprised to see amusement instead, and maybe a glimmer of pride. 

"That's very impressive, Jamie. It's not a terribly advanced spell, but it's still not one I'd have expected a person to be able to perform with no training. Very interesting. And you think your wand had something to do with your ability to perform it?"

"Probably. Mr. Ollivander said that it was a very powerful wand. I think it knew what I wanted to do, even though I didn't really know how to do it."

"Maybe so. Maybe so." Grandfather was nodding thoughtfully, looking abstracted. He shook his head as though to clear his thoughts and looked seriously at Jamie. "You'll know that you can't depend on a wand to do that on a consistent basis. Usually you have to know what you're doing, no matter how powerful the wand." 

"Right. I won't count on my wand to get me out of scrapes all the time," Jamie assured him.

"Very good. And that boy, Snape. . . do keep an eye on him, just as Arachne—Madame Malkin, that is—said to do. His father. . . ." Grandfather trailed off. "You're about to enter Hogwarts, Jamie, and it is there where you will learn to become a full member of the wizarding world." Jamie felt a little confused, wondering where this speech could be going, but he nodded and tried to look grown up. "Since you are now a Hogwarts student—or will be, as of tomorrow—I consider you. . . not an adult, exactly, but a. . . a rational agent. Do you see?"

Jamie thought about it for a moment, and suddenly he did see. "I think so. You mean you think I'm old enough not to be treated like a kid."

Grandfather smiled. "Quite so. I think that you are mature enough to be trusted with information that I would not entrust to a child. As my grandson, you'll be expected to know things that other students may not know. Your classmates may seek you out as a source of information, and I'd like for you to be able to help them if they do. I asked you to tea today partly just because I like to see you, but partly so that I could. . . tell you things. Some of these things, you may share with your classmates; others, I will request you keep to yourself. Can you handle all of that?"

"I think so." Jamie felt a little nervous, but excited, too. Grandfather, he knew, knew all sorts of things, and he felt very flattered that Grandfather wanted to share some of those things with him. "And I promise not to tell anything that you say not to."

"Thank you. Now, the first thing. . . ." Here Grandfather was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Come in," he said, sounding a touch resigned.

A smallish, slightly pot-bellied wizard in early middle age burst in, looking scandalised. "Minister Potter, have you _seen_ Weasley's report on Shrinking Keys? It's an outrage! I can't believe he. . . ." His eyes fell on Jamie, and he broke off. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realise you had company."

"My grandson. He starts at Hogwarts tomorrow, and I wanted to have tea with him before he goes. Jamie, this is Cornelius Fudge, Head of Muggle Relations. Cornelius, Jamie Potter."

"Nice to meet you, lad," Fudge muttered, shaking Jamie's hand.

"And you, sir," Jamie replied.

"Now, Cornelius, if we could perhaps discuss this later? Jamie's scheduled for the nine-minutes-to-five Portkey to Gringotts, and I don't want to make him late, so my time with him is rather limited." 

Fudge looked defeated. "Certainly, Minister Potter." He brightened a bit. "I'll come back at five, shall I?"

"Can it wait until tomorrow?"

"It's _very_ important, Minister," Fudge said, sounding a little pompous. "I really think. . . ."

"Fine, come back at five," Grandfather said, cutting him off. "Goodbye, Cornelius."

"See you then, Minister." Fudge left, shutting the door behind him. 

Grandfather looked after him for a moment. "Fudge is a born bureaucrat, and a sycophant to boot. 'Have you seen the report, Minister?' 'It's an outrage, Minister!' 'A moment of your time, Minister. . . _terribly_ important,'" he mimicked. "Drives me mad. Don't know how poor Arthur puts up with him all the time. . . ." He looked at Jamie as though suddenly remembering that he was there. "_That_ is the first bit of information that you are not to share with your classmates," he said with mock severity. "Can't have them knowing that one of my Department heads is a bumbling, simpering fool."

"Yes, sir," Jamie replied, trying—and failing—not to grin. 

The house elf from the bubble suddenly arrived in the fireplace with a _pop_, laden with two silver tea trays. "Here is your tea, sirs. Flippy is sorry it is taking so long; there was a fresh batch of macaroons coming out of the oven, and Flippy is knowing how much sir is liking his macaroons. Flippy hopes he was right to wait," he said anxiously.

"You were right to wait, indeed, Flippy," Grandfather said kindly. "Thank you very much."

"Sir is very welcome." Flippy placed one tea tray on Grandfather's desk and the other on a table beside Jamie and poured the first cup for each of them. "Is sir needing anything else?"

"That should do, Flippy. Thank you."

"Most welcome, sir." The house elf hopped back into the fireplace and disappeared. 

"A very good house elf, that one," Grandfather remarked. "I took him in here at the Ministry when his master died. Offered him a salary, but he wouldn't take it. . . said his master wouldn't have wanted him to. I wish they'd learn to stand up for themselves, but. . . . Anyway, back to our talk. The father of that Snape boy is indeed involved in the Dark Arts. You may share that with your classmates because it is practically common knowledge in the wizarding world already. What you may not share with them is this: Tobias Snape has spent time in Azkaban. The trial was conducted privately for the sake of his family—particularly his wife, who has. . . troubles that she, unlike her husband, did not bring on herself. Poor woman, she. . . she has been very unlucky, and I'm not sure what sorts of effects her. . . unluckiness. . . is likely to have on her son. At any rate, not many people know about Tobias Snape's time in Azkaban. He's out now, but I don't think the stint there did him any good; from what I hear, he's right back into the Dark Arts again. He's being a little more careful, though, because I told him that the next trial would be public. The Snapes tend to care a lot about pride and keeping up appearances, and I'm hoping the threat of a public trial will keep him at least mostly in line."

"What was he tried for?" Jamie asked, dabbing at his face with his napkin. The éclairs were huge, and he couldn't seem to take a bite without getting chocolate on his nose.

"Trafficking in controlled potions. Brilliant mind, Snape; those are very difficult potions to brew, but he can pop them out like toast. I just wish he'd put his talents to better use. Now, I've told you about his time in prison to give you a little leverage. You may not tell your classmates about young Snape's father. However, if young Snape himself gives you any trouble, you may _threaten_ to tell everyone. Only do that if you feel you must, but, if you do feel you must, go ahead."

"Yes, sir."

"Now, something a little more important. You know where your father is, yes?"

"Yes, sir. He's in Brittany," Jamie answered.

"Do you know why he's in Brittany?"

"Something about getting in touch with a werewolf colony. But that's all I know; I don't know why you wanted him to do it."

"You'll have heard the rumours about. . . strange happenings, yes?"

Jamie nodded. "A few of them. Some people reckon they're caused by a Dark wizard."

"Indeed. And what do you reckon?"

Jamie thought for a moment. "Well, if they are being caused by a Dark Wizard, he'd be getting more powerful, wouldn't he? Because the stuff that's happening. . . well, it's getting harder. The stuff that happened, say, a year ago wouldn't have been as hard to do as the stuff that's happening now. Right?"

"Exactly. You're a smart boy, Jamie."

"Thanks!" Jamie smiled, surprised and gratified. Grandfather seldom gave such direct praise. "So, do you think it is a Dark wizard?"

"It may be. We—'we' being Ministry officials—are hoping it might be a _group_ of Dark wizards."

"Why would you hope that?" Jamie asked, "Why would you _want_ it to be a group instead of. . . oh, I get it. If it were a group, you'd be dealing with their combined power. So, individually, they'd be weaker. But, if it's just one, then all the power is his. Is that it?"

"That's it exactly. If it is only one wizard, then he may be becoming the most powerful Dark wizard that any of us have ever seen—even more powerful than Grindelwald. And that is more than any of us want to face." Grandfather paused, looking troubled. Then he continued. "Even if it is several wizards, I think we will be facing difficult times, Jamie. There are always people who, for whatever reasons—cowardice, ignorance, blind ambition—will follow a Dark wizard if he gets powerful enough. We will all need to be on guard in the coming years—on guard for people who would follow Dark wizards, and on guard for weaknesses in ourselves that might let a Dark wizard exploit us. I want you to take care, Jamie, and to encourage others to take care, but a particular kind of care. I don't want you to become fearful, or to encourage fearfulness in others. I want you and your classmates to have normal lives—to learn and to make friends and to test your own limits. But I also what you, and them, to be. . . more _aware_ than people often are. Just keep your eyes open. Do you follow me?"

"I think so, sir. I need to be careful, but not so careful that I get scared to. . . do stuff. . . like, to take risks."

"That is it exactly. Remember that, and you will be fine."

"Yes, sir." They were both quiet for a moment, thinking things over. Then Jamie said, "I still don't understand what that has to do with Dad and the werewolves." 

"Ah, yes. Werewolves are particularly sensitive to Dark magic; they can feel its presence in their blood, much like the way they can feel the pull of the moon in their blood. Your father is negotiating with this werewolf colony to try to get some of them to work for the Ministry. I'd like to send them to places where these strange things have been happening and to see if they can sense Darkness there and, if so, how strongly they sense it."

"So they're kind of like living Dark detectors."

"Yes, but much more reliable."

"And do you think they'll be willing to help?"

Grandfather sighed. "I don't know. If I were a werewolf, I don't know that I'd do it. They have faced so much prejudice over the years that they are very slow to trust. Things are getting a bit better for them; government-sponsored prejudice, for instance, is not nearly so prevalent as it used to be. They can even vote now in most countries; did you know that?" Jamie nodded. "But they are still, for the most part, shunned by wizarding society. And, since society gives them so little respect, why should they help?" He sighed again, but then he brightened a bit. "I'm hoping, though, that your father can convince them to help. He's a very persuasive man, your father, and a patient and persistent one. I hope he'll eventually be able to wear them down and get them to listen to him. If anyone can do it, I know William can."

Jamie felt a rush of pride for his father. Dad was doing an important job, helping to fight the Dark Arts. Not all of his classmates, he knew, could say that about their fathers.

"Now, let's talk about Hogwarts. Have you thought at all about your House?"

"Yeah, lots. I'm a little nervous about that," Jamie confessed. "I really don't want to get put in Slytherin."

"I doubt very much that you'll have to worry about that. House selection usually runs in families to a large extent, and no member of the Potter family or your mother's family has ever been Sorted into Slytherin. Potters tend to be either Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs, and your mother's family, the Smythes, tend to be Ravenclaws, though I think they have had a few Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs over the years."

"What house were you in, Grandfather?"

"I was in Gryffindor like my father. It was a splendid place. Your father was a Hufflepuff, as my grandfather was, and your mother, as I recall, was a Ravenclaw." He paused. "Grandmother Potter was also a Ravenclaw."

Jamie's eyes widened a bit, but he didn't say anything. No one ever mentioned Grandmother Potter, who had been murdered when Dad was very small. He wondered if Grandfather was going to say more about her, but he didn't. Instead, he continued, "Aside from not wanting Slytherin, do you have any strong feelings about the other Houses?"

"Not really. I've heard good things about all of them from people who were in them—Dad loved it in Hufflepuff, and Mum says Ravenclaw was really good, and you say Gryffindor was fun. So I guess I could be pretty happy anywhere. Anywhere but Slytherin, that is."

Grandfather laughed. "You're right. You should be fine wherever you go. I advise you, though, wherever you end up, not to pay undue attention to House lines. Make your friends based on who they are, not where they live. If you're a Ravenclaw and you see a lot of merit in a person who's in Hufflepuff, try to make friends with that person. Don't let House differences stop you, okay?" Grandfather looked very serious.  
"Okay."

"There's been a problem over the past few years with students not mixing with people outside their own Houses; I'm hoping your year can turn that around. If these dark days that we were discussing do come to pass, we'll all need to learn that it's strength of character, not House affiliation, that matters. Also, don't listen to any of that Slytherin rot about purity of blood. Plenty of good witches and wizards have been Muggle-born. And Muggle-borns are just as important to the fight against the Dark Arts as purebloods are. Don't consider blood when you're choosing your friends. Consider families, perhaps, when you're dealing with wizard-born kids, because children are often a lot like their parents. But don't even let that sway you too much. Kids are often like their parents, but they can also, with help, learn not to repeat their parents' mistakes. Do you understand all that?" Jamie nodded. Grandfather paused, then smiled. "But enough of the heavy stuff. Would you like to know about your teachers? And your classmates? I have a list of both right here."

"That would be great!"

"Okay, teachers first. As a first-year, you'll only have seven classes—Astronomy, History of Magic, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Herbology. There are lots of other classes to choose from when you get older, but those seven are the only ones you need to worry about for now, so those are the only teachers I'll go over. Does that sound good?

"Yeah. Sounds fine."

"Okay. Astronomy is with Professor Sinistra. She's new this year; she was one of the top Astronomy students when she was at Hogwarts a few years ago, and I think she's been apprenticed to the Astronomy teacher at Set-ras—that's the best wizarding school in Egypt. Great astronomers, the Egyptians. Anyway, she's very smart. She was a Ravenclaw. For classroom attitude, and I'd expect her to be firm, but not overly strict. I'd expect the workload she gives you to be fairly light in terms of amount, but rich in content; she'll teach you a lot in just a little time. Need to know anything else about her?"

"Don't think so, sir," Jamie said.

"Okay. History of Magic. That's Professor Binns. He's a ghost. He was a ghost when I was there; blighter's been dead for at least 70 years. And he is dull as dishwater. The way he drones on, he could make Quidditch sound boring. You'll have to rely entirely on the textbook if you want to learn anything interesting from that class."

"Sounds a real treat," Jamie said ironically. He wasn't looking forward to History of Magic.

"Dumbledore and I talk about cutting him loose every year, but we can never quite bring ourselves to do it. He really does love his subject, even though he can't teach for toffee, and, well, History of Magic you can get from a book—more so than the hands-on subjects, anyway. At least his class gives you time to catch up on your sleep. On a brighter note, Charms. Filius Flitwick is the professor there. He and I were at school together. He was in Ravenclaw with your grandmother, and he's smart as a whip—I barely edged him out as Head Boy, and I only managed that because our Herbology professor had it in for Fil. Anyway, he was a Dueling champion in his youth. He's got some fairy blood—probably about a quarter; I think his dad was half-fairy—so he's very small and quick, which served him well on the professional Dueling circuit. When he got tired of Dueling, he came back to Hogwarts as Charms professor. He tends to let his classes get pretty wild; you'll learn a lot, and, as you learn more Charms, you'll get to have lots of fun. I think that about covers Flitwick."

"He sounds kind of cool."

"He is. He's a good man. And then Transfiguration. That professor is Minerva McGonagall, head of Gryffindor House. She's very smart, and tough as nails—one of the most competent and formidable witches I've ever met. She'll not tolerate foolishness, and she'll work you harder than anyone, but she's always fair, and you can't get out of her class without learning a lot. She'll probably be one of the strictest professors you ever have, but, as I say, fair. She also serves as sort of deputy head whenever Dumbledore, the headmaster, gets called away."

"Tell me about Dumbledore," Jamie said. "When you finish with the others, I mean."

"I will. I'm saving him for last. Anyway, Potions. That's taught by Arsinius Jigger. He's probably the best potions brewer in the world. He's head of Ravenclaw and has been since I was there. Rumour is that he's planning to step down as head of House in a couple of years to write a Potions textbook; Flitwick will probably take over House duties when he goes. At any rate, Arsinius is wonderful, and his classes are lots of fun. They never get quite as rowdy as I hear that Flitwick's do, but fun nonetheless. 

"And then there's Defence. That's taught by Alden Avery. He's Head of Slytherin, and he favors them blatantly. I don't entirely trust him and never have; his family is deep in the Dark Arts. Dumbledore says he's okay, though, and not like the rest of his family, so I let him stay on. And I must admit that he's very good at Defence. He's not a nice man at all, though, so take care not to get on the wrong side of him. He'll be even stricter than Minverva—Professor McGonagall—with everyone but his own House.

"Finally, Herbology with Professor Sprout. She's Head of. . . guess."

"Hufflepuff," Jamie said. "You've already mentioned the other three Heads."

"Very good. Just making sure you're taking it all in. She's a little flighty, but a nice woman and a good teacher. You'll learn a lot from her, too.

"And I think that's all of the teachers. Oh, and I should mention the gamekeeper, Rubeus Hagrid. He's a good chap—a bit uncouth, perhaps, but a kinder man you'll never find. And he's very loyal to Dumbledore. Oh, and he's half-giant, but you're not to spread that around; given the prejudice against giants, I think he likes to keep that pretty quiet. He's been at Hogwarts for years, so he knows the place better than almost anyone—except for Albus, of course. He's been there, in fact, since he was expelled in his third year."

"What was he expelled for?" Jamie asked curiously.

"That I don't know. It was some time after I left Hogwarts, but before I had risen very far in the Ministry. I asked Albus about it in passing once, and all he said was that it was 'an unfortunate misunderstanding, and best forgotten.' So I let it drop. Anyhow, now for Dumbledore. I can't tell you much about him that everyone doesn't already know. He's been called the most powerful wizard in the world, and that's probably true; he's at least in the top three or so. And he's a wonderful man—wise, and fair, and generous, and brave, and. . . just wonderful. He's been a very dear friend to our family for years—since he and your great-grandfather were in school together, in fact, in Gryffindor House."

"He must be pretty old, right?" Jamie asked. "Grandpa Joseph has to be over a hundred and twenty."

"A hundred and twenty-four, to be precise. Yes, Dumbledore is pretty old. But he's got a lot of years left; except for his hair, he shows no signs of age. Still strong, still quick, and still the sharpest mind in the wizarding world."

"I'm looking forward to meeting him," Jamie said. "He sounds really cool."

"That he is. Now, how about your classmates?" Grandfather lifted a sheet of paper from his desk. "This year is a pretty big class—there are about 70 of you. Looks like 25 or so are muggle-born; I won't know their families. As for the rest. . . I'll just hit the ones whose families are particularly noteworthy. Let's see. . . I know the Abbotts; good folks, those. And the Blacks. . . . Did you say that the boy you rescued from young Snape was named Sirius?"

"Yes, sir."

"His last name is Black. He's the son of Polaris and Lyra Black. Polaris was the Auror killed in that Azkaban uprising a few years back."

"I remember that. That's when they put the Dementors in charge, isn't it?"

"It is. I'm still not happy about that; I don't trust the Dementors at all." Grandfather sighed. "But we haven't been able to come up with a better solution yet; I've got an entire Department working on it, though, and I'm hoping they'll come up with something. Polaris was a good man and a good worker; we miss him here at the Ministry. Lyra's also an Auror; she's been taking time off since Polaris died, but I think she's coming back to work once her son starts school." He looked on down the list. "Hmm. . . lots of Muggle-borns early in the alphabet this year. . . interesting. Ah, Lupin, Remus. His dad is a Dark Arts Hit Man. Kills vampires and such. Mysterious character, but a good man; he's done some work for the Ministry from time to time. Originally from France, I think—the name was _Lupin_ [Grandfather pronounced it like a French word: loo-PAHn], but he Anglicised it so people here would quit mangling it. Went to school at Beauxbaton." He continued down the list. "Hamish MacAdder. That'll be Archie's grandson, I bet. Archie's a nutter, but harmless. McNair, Walden. Family's deep in the Dark Arts; I'd be wary of that one. Same for Nathaniel Nott. And then Pettigrew, Peter. The Pettigrews are an old family, and they insist on marrying their cousins, so they've gotten a little inbred. I hear young Peter's practically a squib; his parents despair of him. I wish they'd be a little nicer to the boy; he seems like he'd be a good chap if not for all of the family pressure. Ah, well. And then there's you. And then Simmons, Samantha. Her parents are Unspeakables. Brilliant minds, both of them. Then young Snape. . . ." He paused again, working his way along. "Ah, Elizabeth Weasley. She'll be the last in this generation. There are fourteen of the Weasley children. Arthur, the oldest boy, is the one whose report Fudge was ranting about. You couldn't find a nicer family. Good people, all of them. Finally, Gilbert Wimple—mum works in our Experimental Charms Department. A good woman, but not the sharpest knife in the drawer; she's always ending up with after-effects from the charms. That's about it for the noteworthy. . . . I recognise a few more names, but none that I know very well." He looked at Jamie. "Did you take all of that in?"

"Most of it," Jamie said. "It'll help when I can put faces with all of the names."

"Indeed. Oh, and, speaking of names, what are you going to go by at Hogwarts?"

"Do what?" Jamie didn't follow.

"What name will you go by? Will you have your classmates call you 'Jamie,' or will you try something different."

Jamie considered this. "I hadn't really thought about it. Why?"

"Well, I was 'J.P.' at school. After I graduated and came to work for the Ministry, I decided that I wanted to be 'John,' but it was too late; all my school chums were too used to calling me 'J.P.' So now they all still call me 'J.P.,' and I'm only 'John' in the _Daily Prophet_ articles."

"I see. 'Jamie' isn't going to fit so well when I'm forty, is it?" Jamie mused. "'Jim'?" he said. "'Jim Potter'? No, I don't think I like that. How about just 'James'? 'James Potter.' 'Quidditch star James Potter. . . .' Yeah, I think that works."

Grandfather smiled. "I like it. Don't even bother to try to get your parents to use it, though," he warned. "You'll always be two years old in their eyes, so they'll never believe that they should call you anything other than what they called you when you really were two years old."

"I guess Nicky's in for it, then, isn't he?" Jamie—now James—commented. He tried to picture his baby brother as an adult, looking rather like Grandfather, and still being called "Nicky." It was pretty funny.

"Maybe you'd better start breaking them of that now; Nick will thank you for that later," said Grandfather with a smile. He glanced at the clock on his wall. "It's nearly time for your Portkey, so I'd better send you on your way. Should I call for someone to take you?"

"You'd probably better; I don't think I could find my way back—all those stairs!"

"Well, you'll get used to that soon enough at Hogwarts; it's almost as complicated as here." Grandfather tapped the spot on his desk. A bubble containing an image of Officer Squiggins appeared. "Squiggins, could you come and escort my grandson back to the atrium? He has a Portkey to catch."

"Right away, sir," Officer Squiggins replied.

"Thank you." Grandfather popped the bubble. "Let's see, we'd better gather your things." Grandfather pulled a box from under his desk. "Here are the phials and scales that I promised you. I've put some extra pieces of parchment in there with them; use those to send me an owl every now and again, will you?"

"Yes, sir," James promised. "Oh, and my I take one of the cream cakes? Nicky—Nick, that is—really likes them."

"Of course." Grandfather wrapped a cream cake and added an éclair. "One for the road," he said, winking. "Will you be talking with your father tonight?"

"Yes; we're supposed to talk by Fireplace at eight."

"Good. When you talk with him, tell him that I said to remind him about the surprise."

"What surprise?" James asked, his interest piqued. 

Grandfather smiled mysteriously. "If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, now would it?" he replied. He came around his desk to hug James good-bye. "Come in," he said, responding to the knock at the door. Squiggins opened the door and entered the room. "Off you go, then, James. Take care. Study hard, but don't forget to have fun, right? And do owl to let me know how things are going. Oh, and tell your Mum and Nick hello for me." 

"I will, sir. And good luck with that Shrinking Key report. . . sounds fascinating." He winked. Grandfather shook his head, trying not to smile. He hugged James again for good measure, thanked Officer Squiggins, and sent them off, closing his door behind them. 

James and Squiggins re-traced their twisting, maze-like path back to the atrium. Humdinger was still standing guard. "Have a nice visit with the Minister?" he asked.

"Very nice, thanks."

"You're down for the next Portkey to the Leaky Cauldron, right? Here it is." He handed James an empty Butterbeer bottle. "And you're just in time for it; it leaves right about. . . ."

James felt a jerk, and the end of Humdinger's sentence was lost to him in howling wind and swirling color.


	3. Evening at Potter Place

Author's Note: Here's Chapter Three; it's James's last night at home. Stay tuned for the fourth and final chapter, "The Hogwarts Express." And, as ever, I love feedback.

Evening at Potter Place

James's Portkey trip ended just in front of the entrance to Gringotts; this time, he managed to land on his feet. The guard goblin didn't seem overly impressed by this show of dexterity. "Mr. Potter?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Very good." The goblin checked James's name off a list and held out his long-fingered hand. James handed over the used Portkey, which the Goblin tossed into a box, and walked into Gringotts. 

Griphook was waiting for him. "Excellent timing, Mr. Potter. We close in less than fifteen minutes. Shall I retrieve your things for you, or would you like to come along?"

"I'll come along," James said. Griphook nodded as though he had expected this, and he led James through the door and called for a cart. James savoured the wild ride to the vault. Griphook opened the vault and magicked James's packages into the cart. They rode back, and Griphook sent him on his way. 

James lugged his packages down the street and back to the brick wall that separated Diagon Alley from the Muggle world. Just a few hours ago, he reflected, he had needed someone else to let him into the Alley; now he had his own wand, and he could let himself out. He liked that. He counted the bricks carefully and placed his wand on the right one. The wall opened up just like it was supposed to do, and James walked through the opening and into the lot behind The Leaky Cauldron. He entered the pub through the back door, waved to Tom and Jarvis, who were busily serving the after-work crowd, and made his way over to the fireplace. He reached into a pocket of his robe, pulled out the pouch of Floo Powder that Mum had given him this morning, opened it, and tossed its contents into the fire. The flames turned emerald green and flared up higher than James's head. He quickly placed his parcels in the fire, put his glasses in his pocket, took a deep breath, and climbed into the fire. He tucked in his elbows and called, "Potter Place!" 

He was whisked into the Floo network. He spun and spun, feeling a little queasy. As much as he liked the swooping, swerving ride the Gringotts cart, James didn't care for the spinning ride through the Floo system. Finally, he landed in a heap in one of his family's own fireplaces, this one in the library. He climbed out quickly, managing to get out before any of his packages landed on him. "Hullo!" he called. "I'm home!"

"In here, Jamie!" his mother called from the parlour. James carried his packages in, knowing that Mum would want to see his purchases. "Hello, dear. Did you have a good day?"

"Yes, very good. I found everything, and. . . ."

James was interrupted by a happy crow from his little brother. "Jamie!" The toddler scurried across the room to his big brother.

"Hi, Nick!" James picked up the boy and swung him high into the air; Nick laughed delightedly. "Did you have a good day?"

"Yeah!"

"What did you do?"

"Kidditch!" Nick, who had just turned two, was at what Mum called the "vocabulary word" stage of talking. He knew lots of words, but he hadn't really started to put them together into sentences yet.

"You played Quidditch? That sounds fun." James knew that Nick's favorite plaything was his toy broomstick, which let him hover about six inches off the ground. He swooped around the house on it, running into things and scaring the house elves. 

"Yeah! Fun!"

"And what else did you do?"

"Story!"

"Mum read you a story?"

"No! Loopy!"

"Oh, Loopy read you a story." Nick nodded happily. Loopy was his favorite house elf, prized by the Potters for his literacy; most house elves weren't an education, but James's great-grandfather, the elves' original master, had his elves to learn to read. Loopy had been the only one to show any interest, though. "What else did you do?" James asked.

"Tea! Sammich! Shicken!" "Shicken" could mean either "kitchen" or "chicken"—Nick said the same thing for both words—so James wasn't sure if Nick meant that he had eaten chicken sandwiches for tea or that he had taken tea in the kitchen. He looked to Mum for help.

"Yes, we had chicken sandwiches for tea," she clarified, "and then Nick had a nap."

"Nap!" Nick agreed.

"And his fever has been gone all day; I think he's all better."

"All gone! All better!" the boy echoed.

"Sounds like you had a good day, Nick," James said. "Do you want to hear about my day?"

"Yeah!" the boy said. He sat down in his child-sized chair and fixed his blue eyes attentively on his brother. 

James grinned inwardly. Nick was so cute. "Well, first I went to The Leaky Cauldron. Remember the Floo Powder that I used to make me disappear out of the fireplace? That's where it took me. And, then. . . " James recounted the events of his day for Mum and Nick, carefully editing anything that was likely either to confuse his brother or to upset Mum. She probably wouldn't be as calm about his Disarming Spell as Grandfather had been, nor was she likely to be happy about how openly Grandfather had talked to him. He showed them each set of purchases as he talked about the shop where he had gotten them. "And then I Flooed back from The Leaky Cauldron, and here I am," he finished. 

"Sounds good. Did you hold on to your receipts?" Mum asked.

"Yeah, they're in the bags. Except for the wand one; that's in my pocket." He fished it out and handed it to her.

"Great; thanks," she said.

"Oh, and I brought Nick a T-R-E-A-T," James said quietly, spelling out the word that he didn't want his brother to hear. "It's a C-R-E-A-M C-A-K-E left over from tea with Grandfather; can I give it to him now, or should I wait until after dinner?" 

"You'd better wa-. . ." Mum stopped, seeing the hopeful expression on Nick's face; he didn't know exactly what they were talking about, but he could tell that it was about him. "Oh, go ahead and give it to him." 

James fished the cream cake from his pocket, unwrapped it, and handed it to his brother. "Here you go, Nick."

"Gooey!" Nick shouted. That was what he called his favorite treat. He ate it, very messily, while Mum and James watched in amusement.

When he had finished and Mum had done a quick Washing Charm on his face and hands, she suggested, "Why don't you two go play until dinner time? I need to find some information that your father wants when we talk to him tonight."

"Okay," James agreed. "Nick, you want to go ride my broom with me?"

"Yeah!" the boy shouted, nodding his head so hard that his blonde curls shook. 

"Be careful, Jamie."

"I will, I will. I'll hold him very carefully, and I won't do any spirals or anything. Honestly!" James waited until Mum turned her back, and then he rolled his eyes and shook his head. Nick laughed. James scooped him up in one arm and headed for the stairs.

"James Matthew Potter!" his mother's voice made him stop short. "Are you planning to leave all of your things lying here in the middle of the floor?"

"Um. . . yes?" James said, trying to keep a straight face.

"Well, you need to revise those plans."

"Okay. Nick, you want to help me carry these up to my room? You can take that bag there," he said, pointing to the small bag that contained the treats for Sophia; he figured that one was small enough for Nick to handle. Nick picked up that bag, James picked up the rest, and the brothers headed for James's bedroom.

James lived in a large room on the fourth floor of the house, just under the attic. The room was oddly shaped, partly because of the way that the roof sloped down on this end of the house and partly because it had once been at least three different rooms. Over the years, walls had been removed so that, by the time James was born, it was all one room, filled with all kinds of unexpected nooks, and it took up nearly a third of the floor. It was currently a total mess. James was usually relatively neat, but yesterday his Exploding Snap deck had gone up with a particularly colossal bang ("Boom!" Nick had observed cheerfully, laughing as cards flew everywhere), and he had torn the room apart looking for the cards; every item that usually lived in a drawer, in a closet, or on a shelf had somehow ended up on the floor. Clothes, books, wizard jigsaw puzzles (much like the Muggle kind, except that the pieces changed shape, and the pictures didn't stay the same), his Quidditch gear—utter chaos. He had found all the cards but one (the Blue One-eyed Warlock), but he hadn't gotten around to tidying up yet. He figured he'd clean up as he packed. He and Nick set the parcels in on top of the rest of the mess and left it at that. James made a quick stop by Sophia's cage to stroke her sooty feathers. "Sorry, Soph, I don't have any food right now; I'll bring you up some scraps from dinner, okay?" She nipped his finger gently, which he took for assent. He looked around, located his broomstick under a pile of dirty laundry, and fished it out. James ordered the broom into the air and carefully placed his little brother on. "Hold on tight," he instructed. Nick grabbed the broom with both chubby fists. James climbed on behind him; he put one arm protectively around his brother and used the other to hold on and guide the broom. They flew through the doorway, down the hall, and down the stairs. "Mum, could you open the front door, please?" James called from the second-floor landing.

"How many times have I told you not to fly that thing in the house?" his mother called back.

"Hundreds. Please?"

His mother sighed, but James could see that she was smiling as she opened the front door. He kissed her on the cheek as he flew by, and she shut the door behind him. He flew around the grounds of Potter Place—over the front lawn, around the house, and along the walks of the back garden. He didn't fly very fast or very high—that would have worried Mum, who tended to look out the window at most inopportune times, like when he was in the middle of a dive—but he still enjoyed it, mostly because of how much fun Nick had. Even four feet off the ground seemed "Way up!" to Nick. 

"Want to fly through the maze, Nick?" he asked.

"Yeah!" the toddler replied. So they did. Flying, James reflected, really was the way to go with the maze; with a broom, if you got lost and frustrated, you could just fly up and out. The maze re-arranged itself every few days, and sometimes James ran out of patience when it had adopted a particularly tricky configuration. Today, though, he and Nick made it through in record time; this pattern, he though, must have been easier than some.

When he could feel that Nick was getting tired of holding on, James landed and helped his brother off the broom. He set it aside, and the boys spent the rest of their outside time playing ball (Nick couldn't catch yet, but he could roll, and he had fun just running after it), catching fireflies, skipping rocks in the pool of goldfish, and running up and down the garden paths. The grounds of Potter Place were quite large, so the boys could run and shout and play without disturbing any neighbors. 

James had just flown up to retrieve Nick's ball from where it had lodged in an apple tree when Mum called, "Time to come in, boys!" He set the ball beside the path where Nick could find it in the morning, set his brother back in front of him, and flew in the back door. He hopped off, helped Nick off, and hung the broom in its spot inside the door. He almost never hung it here, instead leaving it wherever was handy, which was usually in the middle of the floor. Today, though, he was careful to put it away properly, for he would be leaving it in its place until he came home for Christmas; first-years were not allowed to have their own broomsticks at Hogwarts. James wasn't too happy about this; he knew that there were school brooms to use, but they wouldn't be the same as his Cleansweep, which he knew and which knew him. Oh, well, he thought, it was a small sacrifice; there would be lots more at Hogwarts to make up for the temporary loss of his broomstick. Pulling himself out of his reverie, James hurried into the washroom; he didn't want to keep Mum and Nick waiting. He washed his hands, tried to straighten his hair, gave up, and went on in to dinner. 

--

After dinner, Mum took Nick off for his bath ("Washy!"), and James went back up to his room to pack and to try to straighten the mess. Before tackling either task, he gave Sophia the fat from the pork chop that he had eaten for dinner; she hooted happily. He decided to let her out to fly around a bit while he packed. 

He put most of his purchases from that afternoon directly into his trunk without bothering to open them again, but he left out his wand; he'd carry that with him tomorrow. He also made sure that one set of robes was at the top of the trunk; students were to travel to King's Cross dressed as Muggles and change into their robes on the train. James, who had been to King's Cross lots of times with Dad, privately thought that the robes would hardly have made a difference; any Muggles who were likely to notice something odd about the students would probably be tipped off by the owls and toads. In addition to the supplies that he had purchased today, James packed plenty of parchment—Mum had given him reams of the stuff for his birthday—his favorite quill plus a few spares, and several bottles of different-colored ink. He also added_ In the Air with the Appleby Arrows_, the book about his favorite Quidditch team. He liked the Arrows partly just because they were good but partly because he didn't like the Wimbourne Wasps, their bitter rivals. James had to admit that Wimbourne's big star, Ludo Bagman, was the best Beater in the league, but he still didn't like him; there was something phony about Bagman, he thought. Besides, he didn't like wasps. 

After packing up his trunk, James undertook what _Daily Prophet_ headlines would have called "a massive clean-up effort." It took nearly an hour, but, when he finished, everything was back where it belonged—books and games on the shelves, clothes either hung, folded, or, in the case of the dirty ones, piled beside the fireplace for one of the house elves to collect, desk straightened, and so forth. He even made the bed, which he usually wouldn't have bothered to do since he was going to be sleeping in it again in less than two hours, but the room looked so neat that he couldn't bear to leave it undone. And he found the One-Eyed Warlock tangled in the bedclothes; he winked with his one eye as James but him back into the deck and closed it up tight in its explosion-proof box. He considered for a moment, the added the deck to his Hogwarts trunk; Exploding Snap would be a nice way to pass time on the train. He hadn't been planning to take his chess set to Hogwarts—he wasn't very good, after all, and he figured that someone else would have one if he wanted to play—but the pieces protested so loudly that he decided to pack them just to get them to shut up. Just as he was shutting Sophia back into her cage, the clock on his wall shouted, "Oi, Jamie! Yer 'bout to be late!"

"Oh, yeah, time for Dad! Thanks!" he called over his shoulder as he ran out the door and down the stairs to the second floor. Mum was just lighting the fire when he arrived in Dad's study.

"There you are, Jamie—sorry, James." He had told her at dinner about his planned name change. "I was just about to send Nicky up to get you. Dad's head should be here any minute now."

A few minutes later, there was a _pop_ in the fireplace, and Nick pointed at it, shouting, "Daddy! Head!" 

"Hi, Nicky!" Dad's head said from the fireplace. "Doesn't Daddy look funny?"

"Funny!" Nick agreed. As he toddled around to the side of the fireplace, apparently checking to see where the rest of his father might be, Will Potter greeted the rest of his family. 

"Did you find everything you needed today, Jamie?" he asked his older son.

"Yes, with no problems. And I got to ride the Gringotts cart _twice_." James knew that, even though he tried to hide it behind what he called his "grown-up face," Dad liked the cart as much as he did. "And I had a really good time with Grandfather. He told me about my classmates and my teachers and. . . stuff."

"'And stuff,' eh?" Dad repeated. "What kind of 'stuff'?" 

"Just, you know, about the Houses, and about making friends with people outside my House, and about being nice to the Muggle-borns." He smiled inwardly, remembering how Grandfather had called blood prejudice "that Slytherin rot," but he didn't repeat that; Dad probably would have thought it was funny, but Mum might not have. "Oh, and he said to ask you about the surprise. What's the surprise, Dad?"

Will Potter grinned. "Ellen," he said to his wife, "Over there in the big wardrobe, up on the top shelf and way in the back, there is a rather squishy package. Could you get it down and give it to Jamie?"

"Yes, love," Mum replied. "Oh, and he wants to be called 'James' now instead of 'Jamie,'" she called across the room to her husband's head as she opened the wardrobe.

"Is that so?" Dad asked, looking amused. 

"Yeah," James said, feeling a little embarrassed. "Grandfather mentioned names today when we were talking, and I thought it might be time. 'Jamie' sounds a little. . . well, young, you know?"

"I know. I had the same talk with him before I went to Hogwarts," Dad said. "I had been 'Billy' when I was little, and he suggested that I think about, ah, choosing a more adult version of my name." 

"Is this the package, Will?" Mum asked, carrying over a brown paper parcel.

"Yes, that's it." She handed it to James. "Son, in that package is a family heirloom. It gets handed down to the oldest Potter child just before he—or she, but it's been a 'he' for the last several generations—goes off to Hogwarts. Take good care of it, and, ah, don't let just everyone know that you have it; I'm not sure that you're technically allowed to have them at school." James shot an anxious glance at Mum, wondering if she'd be upset at this mention of rule-breaking, but she was smiling; apparently, she knew what was in the package, and it seemed to be okay with her. "Open it up and try it on," Dad said.

So it was something to wear. Curious, James tore into the package. Inside lay a shimmery, silvery, streamy-looking piece of cloth, folded neatly. It looked almost like liquid, like someone had found a way to spin water into yarn. He touched it gingerly, and it felt much like it looked—cool and light and liquidy. Was it some sort of Dress Robes? No, he didn't need those yet, and they'd hardly have been contraband. "What is it?" he asked. 

"Try it on and see," Dad said.

James removed the garment from the package and held it up; it was some sort of cloak. He tossed it around his shoulders and looked across the room into the mirror.

He wasn't there. That is, his reflection wasn't there—not the reflection of his body, at least. His head seemed to hang in mid-air. Suddenly, he realised what this was. "It's an Invisibility Cloak! Neat! Thanks, Dad!" he said.

"Your very welcome, James."

"Jamie! Head!" Nick said, looking very confused. 

He looked even more confused when James ruffled his curls with an invisible hand. "My body's invisible, see?" he explained.

"Invibasul?" Nick asked.

"It means you can't see it."

"Can't see. Gone?"

"No, not gone, just—like a window. You can look through me like you can look through the glass in a window, but I'm still here."

"Oh. Window!" Nick pointed across the room to the window. "Moon!" His attention span was getting shorter, James noted. That meant it was getting close to his bedtime. He looked out the window and, just as Nick had reported, the moon was framed in it. It was full tonight.

James took off the cloak and placed it carefully back into the brown paper; he'd pack it as soon as he went back up to his room. "Be careful with that," Dad said, "and have fun with it; it comes in quite useful. I mostly used it to spy on opposing Quidditch teams—learn their moves and the like. Grandfather, I'm told, used it to sneak into the Ravenclaw common room to visit. . . his friends there." James knew that he had been about to say, "to visit your grandmother." "And Grandpa Joe used it to sneak into the Restricted Section of the library. Now, your great-great grandfather, Alden Potter—you won't remember him; he died long before you were born—he was legendary; the rumour is he was actually able to _practise_ Quidditch with it; he found some way to rig it around his broom. I could never get that to work."

"Sounds like lots of fun. I'm sure I'll find lots of things to use it for."

"I'm sure you will," Dad agreed with a grin. "Now, why don't you take Nick on up to bed? I need to discuss some business with your mother."

"Okay, Dad. Thanks again for the Cloak; it's really great."

"You're welcome, son. Send me an owl after your first classes meet, okay? I want to know how everything is going."

"Sure thing. 'Bye!"

"Good-bye."

"Bye-bye, Daddy-head!" Nick called.

"Bye-bye, Nicky. Sleep well."

James carried his little brother down the hall to his nursery. Nick was very sleepy; he nodded off halfway through his bedtime story, "The Dragon and the Banshee." James tucked him in and went to see if Dad had left yet. The study was empty, and the fire was just burning down. He ran upstairs to pack his new cloak and then headed back downstairs to find his mother. She was in the kitchen, giving instructions for tomorrow to the four house elves. 

James waited until she had finished and then cleared his throat to get her attention. "Mum? I got Nick off to bed. Went right to sleep; he was pretty tired."

"You did a nice job wearing him out before dinner," Mum said.

"Yeah, well, that was the idea," James replied with a grin. "Though I nearly wore myself out, too."

Mum smiled back. "You should probably head up to bed; we've got to leave pretty early tomorrow to get to King's Cross on time."

"Yeah, I'm pretty tired. G'night, Mum."

"Goodnight, Jamie," she said, bending to kiss him on the top of the head. He didn't bother to correct her; he just smiled to himself and headed up to bed. 


	4. The Hogwarts Express

Author's Note: In this, the final chapter, James goes to King's Cross and takes the Hogwart's Express to school; he meets several of the usual suspects. I've decided to end this story here as I originally planned, but I may eventually write a sequel; James and his friends are kind of addictive. I have an idea for the "troubles" and "unluckiness" of Mrs. Snape's that J.P. mentioned back in Chapter Two, and it really wants me to develop it. But, if I do go that route, it won't be for a while; a big term paper beckons, so I'll be leaving James—and everyone else—for now.

To Trinity Day: Thanks so much for your very encouraging reviews! I totally forgot that Bertha is older; thanks for the reminder. I went back and fixed that. Also, I agree that Arthur couldn't be the oldest of that many kids; I'm thinking of him as the oldest _son_, but with at least three older sisters. (The way Molly kind of pushes him around makes him seem like a little brother of sisters to me.) I couldn't find a very elegant way to make that clearer, so I've left it as is for now; it may come up again in later stories if I get inspired to write later ones. 

And thanks, too, to my other reviewers. Reviews make me happy. (Hint, hint.)

Finally, none of this belongs to me. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling—especially the descriptions of the walk from the train to the boats and of the boat ride, which are both shamelessly cribbed from _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_.

The Hogwarts Express

The next morning, James awoke before his alarm clock sounded. "Yer up early," the clock observed.

"Excitement, I guess," James said. He threw on his dressing gown and went over to his mirror to see how bad his hair was. No worse than usual, he decided.

"Nervous, dear?" the mirror asked.

"A little," he admitted. 

"Are you sure you don't want to take me along? You'll need someone to look after that hair of yours."

James laughed. "I'm sure there will be mirrors at Hogwarts; they'll take care of my hair while I'm away. . . as much as anyone can take care of it, I mean." The mirror grumbled a little, but agreed to stay. 

"How 'bout me?" the clock asked. "Do I get ter go?"

"Erm, yeah, I guess you'd better."

"How come he gets to go and I don't?" the mirror asked, affronted.

"Because I know they have mirrors; I don't know if they have alarm clocks," James replied reasonably. Then, trying to boost the mirror's ego a bit, he added, "Besides, I need you to stay here and keep an eye on things for me."

"Well, I guess that's true," the mirror said, sounding self-satisfied. "After all, you certainly couldn't leave him in charge."

"Ah, bugger off!" the clock replied. Shaking his head, James headed out the door, leaving them to it. He bounded down the stairs and into the dining room.

"Mum?" he called. "I'm up!" 

Flippy, one of the house elves, came into the room, carrying bacon, eggs, toast, and tea. "Madam is waking sir's brother, sir," the elf said. "She said to tell sir that she would be down soon and that sir was to go ahead and eat his breakfast." 

"Oh, okay. Thanks."James sat down and tucked into his breakfast; whatever nervousness he felt didn't seem to be affecting his appetite.

Just as James was finishing the last of his tea, Mum and Nick arrived. "All finished, dear?" she asked.

"Yup; I was just heading upstairs for a bath."

"Good; I meant to have you take one last night, but I got distracted talking with your father, and I forgot."

"What did Dad need?" James asked. He didn't really expect her to answer, but he thought he'd ask anyway.

"Just some more information on werewolves."

"Is he making any progress with them?" 

Mum looked at him sharply as though wondering how much he knew. "A bit," she said. "But they still don't quite trust him. He's hoping that the Healing he can do will help win them over; last night was the full moon, so they'll be needing a bit of Healing."

"Where did he stay last night? You know, while the moon was out; he couldn't very well stay with them."

"The colony isn't all werewolves; there are spouses and children, too, and there's a safe house, guarded with wolfsbane and silver and all sorts of charms, where they go every full moon; your father stayed there last night."

"Oh. Okay." Satisfied, James headed back upstairs for his bath.

--

An hour later, James was bathed, dressed, fully packed, and ready to leave. Dad had arranged for a Ministry car to pick them up and drive them to King's Cross—the Floo network would be too crowded to be reliable this morning—and it would be arriving soon. Mum played nagging parent, running through a list of everything that she thought James might have forgotten ("Toothbrush?" "Yes." "Plenty of socks?" "Yes." "Clean underwear?" "MUM!"), and Nick giggled at James's head-shaking and eye-rolling responses. Mum didn't nag very often, and James didn't mind too much when she did, so his eye-rolling was mostly for show. Finally, the car arrived. The driver loaded James's trunk and Sophia's cage, everyone piled in, and they set off for London.

After a fairly dull drive lasting about two hours, they arrived at King's Cross. The driver helped them unload and sent them on their way; Mum and Nick would spend the day shopping in London and head home after the Floo crowd cleared. James, Mum, and Nick set off for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters with Nick riding on top of James's trunk on the luggage cart. As they neared the barrier between platforms Nine and Ten, James noticed a family standing in front of it, looking a little lost. He recognised the red-haired girl from the wand shop; her surly older sister, he noticed, was not with the rest of the family today. The girl was looking at the barrier with a very confused expression. He decided to see if he could help.

"Hi, there," he said, walking up to them. "Are you off to Hogwarts, too?"

The girl smiled at him in relief. "Thank goodness! Do you know what to do to get to the Platform? The letter says to walk through the wall, but. . . ." she trailed off doubtfully.

"Can I see your letter?" James asked. The girl handed it to him. It was much longer than his had been. "Mine didn't say how to get to the Platform; I think Muggle-borns get different letters." He handed it back. "Anyway, yeah, you just walk through the wall." He turned to her parents. "It only works for magic people, so you won't be able to go; you'd better say good-bye here." Turning his attention back to the daughter, he said, "Mum and I will go through now; you just watch us, and we'll wait for you on the other side of the barrier. Go at it at a bit of a run if you get nervous." James motioned for Mum to head on through. She leaned against the wall, and she was gone. He followed, pulling Nick and the cart behind him. 

James arrived on the other side of the barrier; the scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express steamed on the tracks before him. "Train!" Nick said, pointing.

"Yeah," James said. "That train is going to take me to school." 

"School," Nick agreed. 

James wasn't entirely sure that Nick knew what "school" meant, or if the toddler understood what was happening. "I'll be gone for a long time," he said, "but I'll come back for Christmas, and I'll try to talk to you by Fireplace some—like Dad did last night."

"Head," Nick said. "Daddy-head. In fire."

"Yes. I'll try to that, too."

"Jamie-head."

"Exactly." James scooped Nick off the luggage cart and hugged him. "I'll miss you while I'm gone."

"Miss you, too," the boy echoed. 

"But I'll learn lots of fun things to show you when I come home, and I'll bring you a nice present," James promised. 

Nick nodded, then pointed up at the ceiling. "Owl!" he said.

James looked up. Sure enough, there was a large barn owl perched high on a rafter. At the bottom of the rafter stood a small, slightly chubby boy. "Please, Barney, come down!" the boy called. Another boy, this one several years older, walked over, offering an owl treat. The owl flew down to take it, and the boys managed to get him back into his cage. 

James grinned. "Should have known better than to let his owl out here," he said to Mum.

"Yes, that wasn't the best idea." She looked at her son. "Take care, Jamie. And be good. And study hard. And write often. And brush your teeth. And. . . ."

"I know, I know, and take a bath every now and again, and maybe even change my underwear sometimes," James interrupted. 

He heard a giggle behind him. The red-haired girl had arrived through the barrier, apparently just in time to hear James's comment about changing his underwear. He felt his face flush, but he managed to meet her eyes and grin at her. She smiled back, and he turned his attention back to Mum, who was smiling sheepishly. 

"I know you know. But I still have to say it. I'm a mother; it's in the job description." She grabbed him and pulled him into a tight hug. "I love you, James."

"Love you, too, Mum."

"Now, you'd better get on the train." James hugged Nick once more, then set off for the Express. 

James looked back at the red-haired girl, who seemed to be waiting. She stepped up to join him. "Hello, again," he said. "I'm James, by the way. I'm a first-year, too."

"Lily." The girl offered him her hand, and he shook it. They walked together to the train, handed their owl-cages off to the porter, and boarded. James leaned out to wave to Mum and Nick, and then they dragged their trunks along the corridor, looking for a compartment. The first few were entirely full, but the fourth one only had one person in it, a slight, pale-skinned boy with light brown hair. James recognised him from the wand shop, too. 

"Can we join you?" he asked. The boy nodded, and James and Lily entered the compartment. The other boy, James noted, looked rather tired; he had big shadows under his eyes, and his hands seemed to shake a bit. Maybe he was just nervous, James thought. "I'm James," he said to the boy. "James Potter."

"And I'm Lily Evans. We're both first-years."

"Remus. Lupin. Also a first-year," the boy replied. He had a very gentle, slightly hoarse voice. "Pleased to meet you. . . both of you."

James felt Lily's eyes on him. "Wait. 'Potter.' Are you related to the Minister of Magic?"

"Yeah, I'm his grandson. But how do you know about the Minister of Magic? I thought you were Muggle-born."

"I am. When I found out that I'm a witch, I wanted to learn about the magical world. So, when we went to Diagon Alley for my school supplies, I took out a subscription to the Daily Prophet." Lily looked a little embarrassed. "I know it's kind of swotty, but. . . ."

"No, it's a good idea," James said. 

Lily grinned mischievously. "It does set Petunia off a bit, having the delivery owl swoop in every morning." She made a face. "Petunia's my older sister," she explained. "She's pretty horrible. She's always been kind of mean to me, but it's been really bad since I found out I'm a witch. She calls me a freak and all sorts of awful things. Really, though, I think she's just jealous."

"Probably so," James said. "I know I'd be jealous if I were a Muggle and my sister turned out to be a witch. Wouldn't you, Remus?" James turned to the boy for corroboration. "Remus?"

"Looks like he's asleep," Lily said. "I thought he looked a bit tired." 

"Yeah, and a bit peaky, too; wonder if he's sick?" They regarded Remus for a moment. "Oh, well, we'll wake him when the tea trolley comes round."

"Yeah, that sounds. . . ."

What it sounded, James didn't get to hear, because the door to their compartment banged open, and Lily broke off in mid-sentence. The chubby boy with the problem owl had raced in, slamming the door behind him. He was breathing hard, and he looked terrified. "Need some help, mate?" James asked.

The boy looked at him as though noticing him for the first time. "Do these doors lock?" he asked.

"Don't think so," James replied. "What's wrong?"

"Snape's after me. He's got his two goons, McNair and Nott, with him."

"What happened?" James asked.

"Barney bit him. Barney's my owl. He didn't _mean_ to bite him, but Snape was poking at him, and. . . ."

"Snape seems to cause trouble wherever he goes. Why don't you just stay in here with us, and we'll take care of everything. I'm James, James Potter. First-year."

"Peter Pettigrew. Another first-year. Nice to meet you." The boy managed a smile. Lily introduced herself and Remus, who had somehow managed to sleep through Peter's grand entrance. "

"I think the train's started moving," James said. "Maybe you're safe; maybe they'll go find a compartment."

Peter relaxed slightly, but stiffened again when the door flew open. It wasn't Snape, though; it was Sirius, the boy from Gringotts, dragging his trunk. "Wouldn't happen to have an extra seat in here, would you, mates?" he asked. He looked at James, and his eyes lit with recognition. "Hey, it's you!"

"So it is," James said, grinning. "Come in and have a seat." 

Sirius did, and they all introduced themselves. When he heard James's name, Sirius whistled. "Got myself rescued by the Minister's grandson, did I?" he said.

"Rescued?" Lily asked.

Sirius related the story of his run-in with Snape and James's Disarming Spell. Lily and Peter looked very impressed and refused to listen to James's protests that he really hadn't known what he was doing. 

"This Snape fellow sounds like a real pill," Lily said. 

"He's a terror," Peter said. "He lives near me, so I've known him forever, and he's always been mean. Knows a bunch of hexes, too."

"And Sirius and I are certainly off on the right foot with him," James observed wryly. "Oh, well, we'll just have to hope we don't end up in his House."

His companions murmured assent. The conversation turned away from Snape to Houses and teachers. Grandfather's information came in quite handy, as James was able to tell the other four a lot. 

Suddenly, James realised that his morning tea was catching up with him. "Anybody happen to know which way the loo is?" he asked.

"Go left when you walk out the door; I passed it on my way up the car," Sirius said. 

"Thanks." James dug into his pocket and pulled out his pouch of money. "If the tea trolley comes while I'm gone, get me a roast beef sandwich, an apple, some Every-Flavour Beans, and a Chocolate Frog, would you? Oh, and some pumpkin juice." Sirius assured him that he would, and James thanked him again and set off to find the lavatory. 

He found Snape first, with two friends in tow. These must have been the "two goons" that Peter had mentioned; they were both huge. One was taller than James, who was pretty tall for his age, and both were much broader and heavier.

"You." Snape's voice was full of loathing.

"Hullo," James said neutrally. 

Snape jerked his head at James and spoke to the two goons. "That's the guy that was giving me trouble in Diagon Alley." He turned his cold, black gaze back on James. "Who are you, and why shouldn't we get even with you?" he said.

James tried not to let himself sound nervous, even though he felt quite outnumbered. "James Potter. And you shouldn't 'get even with me' because you have nothing to get even about; I'm just minding my own business."

"That's a change," Snape said sarcastically. "Nott, do you think he's minding his own business?"

Nott, the lighter-haired goon, looked confused. James figured that he must not be too quick on the uptake. The darker one, McNair, looked smarter; there was a cunning look in his eyes that made James decidedly uncomfortable. 

Snape gave up on Nott. "You're pathetic, Nott. McNair, do you think he's minding his own business?"

"No. But I also think beating up the Minister's grandson would be a pretty stupid move." James hid a relieved grin. He had guessed right; McNair was smarter. 

Snape didn't look happy, but he recognised the truth of McNair's observation. "Fine. We'll settle for a fat little squib instead." The three set off down the corridor, and James hurried the other way. He hurried not from fear that the three would change their minds about trying to fight him, but because he knew that the "fat little squib" in question would probably need his help soon. He found the lav, took care of things, and hurried back up the corridor. He heard angry voices, and he broke into a jog.

When he arrived outside his compartment, the door was open, and Snape and his friends were standing inside. James surveyed the scene. Peter was scrunched in a far corner, holding out a hand as though to ward off a blow. Remus, seated next to him and now awake, wore an expression of confusion quickly turning to anger. Sirius was standing in front of both of them, facing the other three, his eyes blazing. Lily was nowhere to be seen. James started to walk in and join the fun when he saw Lily coming down the corridor, an older boy following her. The older boy had a badge in the shape of a "P" pinned to his shirt. James stepped aside to let the older boy and Lily enter the compartment. "He's a Prefect," Lily whispered as she passed. "I thought we might need one." James nodded approvingly. He stayed outside in the corridor, as the compartment was now rather crowded. 

"Is there a problem, guys?" the prefect was asking. "I'm Frank, Frank Longbottom. I'm a Prefect. Fifth year." James was struck by his way of saying "I'm a Prefect;" he didn't say it arrogantly, like someone high on his position, but rather said it like someone who still couldn't quite believe his luck. "Maybe I can help sort things out."

"Maybe so." Remus was first to speak. "Could you get this lot to leave us alone?"

"Are you bothering these fellows?" Frank asked the three.

"The little fat one there started it," Snape said. "He let his owl bite me."

"Barney only bit you because you were poking him; if you'd left him alone, it wouldn't have happened," Peter replied, sounding a little squeaky.

"Shut up, squib!" Snape ordered.

"Don't you call him that, you oily-haired git!" Sirius said angrily, taking a step towards Snape.

"Who's going to stop me?" Snape replied.

"Gentlemen!" Frank said loudly, stepping between Sirius and Snape. "First, you." He looked at Snape. "Unless I missed the _Daily Prophet_ headline, Hogwarts has not started accepting squibs. So do not use that term to refer to your fellow student; it's rude, and it's not true. Also, don't call people fat. And keep your fingers away from other people's owls. Got all that?" Snape nodded resentfully. "And you." He turned to Sirius. "Hogwarts does occasionally accept oily-haired gits. However, that term is also rude, so don't use it to refer to your fellow student. Got it?" Because Frank's back was to him, James couldn't see his smile, but he could hear it in his voice. Sirius smiled back and saluted smartly as if to say, "Yes, sir." "Good. Now, who originally claimed this compartment?"

"Me, I guess," Remus said.

"Then you get to choose who can stay in it."

"Everyone but those three can stay." He pointed at Snape, McNair, and Nott. "Sorry to point, but I don't know their names."

"Ah, yes; what are your names?" Frank asked. "All of you." They all gave him their names. "Okay. So Snape, McNair, and Nott, you three have to go. And Lupin, Pettigrew, Black, and Evans, you can stay. And, if that's all you need, I am going to get back to my chess game." He turned to go, but he waited outside the door, on the opposite side from the one James was standing on, to make sure that the three evicted students did leave.

They filed out, first Nott, then McNair, then Snape. Before he stepped out of the compartment, Snape turned to speak to Sirius. "You might try being a bit politer, Black, and choosing your friends more carefully. Hang out with people like Pettigrew, and you'll go the same way your father did." 

He walked out the door before Sirius could reply. James stepped halfway into his path and said softly, into his ear, "At least _his_ father was able to stay on the right side of the bars at Azkaban. Unlike _some_ fathers we might mention." Snape turned paler, and James could see fear in his black eyes. "Don't worry. I haven't told anyone. Yet. And I won't, unless you push me to it. So think long and hard about just who it is that needs to be politer." He eased past Snape and through the doorway of the compartment, flashing a grateful smile at the Prefect before he shut the door. "Well, that was fun, wasn't it?" he said.

"Loads," Remus replied. "Anybody want to fill me in on what that was about? And who are you two?" he asked Sirius and Remus. "I said that you could stay because you were obviously the ones getting picked on, but I have no idea who you are."

Sirius and Peter introduced themselves, and everyone talked over one another trying to explain about Snape and Peter's owl, Sirius's package of robes, James's Disarming Spell, and Lily's brilliant idea of summoning the Prefect. James couldn't imagine how Remus took it all in, but he seemed to get it, and he settled back into his seat looking content. "Looks like I was asleep for a good bit. Has the tea trolley come?" he asked. 

"I passed it on the way back from the Prefect's car," Lily said. "It should be here soon." 

On cue, there was a knock at the door, and a smiling, dimpled witch slid it open, asking, "Anything off the trolley, dears?" Among the five of them, the students bought fourteen sandwiches, seven pieces of fruit, a huge flask of pumpkin juice, and at least two of every type of candy. Then they proceeded to munch and chat their way north.

By the time the windows started to darken, James knew a lot about his four classmates. Remus and Peter had no siblings; Sirius and Lily each had a sister, Sirius's younger than he by two years. Remus's mum had some sort of illness, and he'd have to go home to take care of her when his father was out of town, which, given his Dark Arts Hit Man work, was often. Lily, whose mother was a nurse, asked a little about her illness, but Remus didn't seem want to talk about the details. James figured that was why Remus looked so tired; he had probably be been up tending to his mum the night before. Lily's dad was a teacher; he taught something called physics. James had never heard of it, so he figured it must be a Muggle thing. Peter's parents didn't work at all; he said he wasn't sure why. James guessed that Peter's family, like his own, was fairly wealthy. He knew that Dad would have had enough money not to work if he didn't want to, but Dad couldn't stand what he called "idling." James supposed that Peter's father didn't harbor such feelings. 

And those were just the things that James knew _about_ them; what he had managed to learn of _them_—of what they were like—he considered more interesting. Sirius was just as he had seemed the first time James had seen him—fun-loving, daring, likeable, not serious at all. He was quick to anger (as evidenced by his "oily-haired git" comment to Snape), but, James could tell, also quick to forgive, if forgiveness were deserved. Peter was a little hapless; James could see why his family despaired of him, and he realised that the rest of them would probably have to get Peter out of a lot of scrapes. Remus was quiet and reserved, almost secretive, but there was a gleam in his light-colored eyes that hinted at a mischievous streak. And Lily was, well, nice—a little nervous about this odd new world that she was entering, but quick to pick things up. Quick-thinking, too; James was impressed that she had thought to go for a Prefect when Snape and his friends arrived. He himself had totally forgotten that there would be people on the train to sort out problems. All in all, James thought, they were a nice bunch. He thought of the way Grandfather had urged him to make friends across House lines, and he vowed to himself to hang onto these four, no matter what Houses they were Sorted into. 

James's thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. "Nearly there, folks. Time to put your robes on," came Frank Longbottom's voice through the door. 

"Erm, Lily, I think we're going to have to kick you out for a bit," James said.

"I was just on my way to the loo," she said. "I'll knock before I come in." She headed out, carrying her robe with her. The boys quickly changed into their robes—James had to loan one to Peter, who had left his trunk when he ran off to avoid Snape; it was far too long—and, at Remus's suggestion, their cloaks. They packed their Muggle clothes into their trunks. 

A voice suddenly echoed through the train. "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes," it said. "Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to the school separately."

"Good," Sirius muttered. "Trunk's heavy."

"Do owls count as luggage?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, so long as they're in cages," Remus said. "Especially since most of us don't even have them with us in our compartments." 

Just then, Lily knocked, and they told her to come in. She packed her Muggle clothes and put on her cloak, and then they all sat. Nerves seemed to have caught up with them, for no one—not even Sirius—seemed to have much to say. James heard shuffling noises out in the corridor.

"Sounds like people are starting to line up outside," he said. "Think we should?"

"Yeah, guess so," Sirius replied. The five students stood and left their compartment to join the crowd in the corridor. The train stopped, and the line of students pushed toward the doors. It was chilly outside, and James was glad Remus had suggested cloaks. He felt bad for Peter, whose cloak was shut up in his trunk, wherever the trunk was. 

A voice that seemed to come from high up called, "Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here!" James looked toward the voice and saw that it belonged to the biggest man he had ever seen. This must be Hagrid, the half-giant gamekeeper, and, if he was only half-giant, James didn't want to think about how big a full-blooded giant would be. At first glance, he looked rather wild, with a huge, bushy beard and long tangles of black hair, but, as James got closer, he could see twinkly eyes and a big smile. 

"Any more firs'-years?" Hagrid called. "Mind yer step, now, and follow me!" The first-years followed Hagrid down a steep, narrow path. Peter tripped a few times on James's too-long robe, but James and Sirius managed to keep him from falling. 

"Jus' round this bend here, yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts," Hagrid called over his shoulder. 

They rounded "this bend here," and everybody stopped and said, "Oooooooh!" The path had suddenly opened onto the edge of a great black lake. A vast castle with more towers and turrets than James could count sat on the lake's other side, perched high atop a mountain, its many windows lit invitingly.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, indicating a fleet of small boats that had appeared at the lake's edge.

"Remus and Lily, why don't you take that boat, and Peter and Sirius, come with me," James said. They climbed into their boats. James, Sirius, and Peter were joined by a girl with hair of a red lighter and brighter than Lily's, and Lily and Remus were joined by two students with light blond hair, a boy and a girl.

"Everyone in?" Hagrid called. "Then—FORWARD!" 

The fleet of boats set off across the smooth, clear lake. Everyone sat, silent, watching the castle loom nearer and nearer, seeming to tower higher and higher above them.

"Heads down!" Hagrid called as the boats began to reach the cliff. They bent their heads, and the boats sailed through a curtain of ivy that hid a large opening in the cliff face. They sailed on through a tunnel that seemed to run right under the castle, and they finally arrived at an underground harbour. They all climbed out and followed Hagrid up a rock passageway that led them, eventually, to the lawn in front of the castle. They walked up a flight of stone steps and gathered at the huge, oak front door. Hagrid checked to see that everyone was there, then raised one huge fist and knocked three times. The door opened immediately, revealing a tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes. Because of her stern bearing, James guessed that she was Professor McGonagall. This impression was confirmed when Hagrid said, "The firs'-years, Professor McGonagall."

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." She opened the door wider so that they could all pass through. James looked around at his four new friends, smiled, squared his shoulders, and walked through the door to begin his school days.


End file.
